It’s the End of Feminist Media. Again.
<p>When I was a teenager, the universally acknowledged center of culture in Columbus, Ohio was an all-night coffee shop named Insomnia. It was filthy, and the bathrooms never worked, and the coffee was barely serviceable. Nonetheless, anyone who was vaguely “alternative” wound up at Insomnia, the same way every terrible entry-level punk band played the basement of <a href="https://www.columbusmonthly.com/story/entertainment/music/2016/01/07/last-weekend-at-bernie-s/22995743007/" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank">Bernie’s,</a> a few doors down. (I was offered a slot in a band playing at Bernie’s because I wore an interesting outfit and claimed — incorrectly, as it happens — that I could play keyboard. This happened, not once, but several times.) Every date I had before age 20, every non-school-based relationship, resulted from running into someone at either Bernie’s or Insomnia. It was where my young life happened.</p>
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